


Milk and Coffee

by Bluejay141519



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Panic Attacks, Minor Angst, an attempt at fluff, concussion symptoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/pseuds/Bluejay141519
Summary: The soft, much to fluffy getting together story of these two obliviots, told through scenes of life.





	Milk and Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melpemone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melpemone/gifts).



> Just for reference '...' is always followed by Sids POV, an '***' is always followed by Geno's.
> 
> Title is a song by 'NoMBe' and is on spotify and youtube if anyone wants to listen :)

...

 

If Sid had to pinpoint exactly when his crush started, it would be easy. He could say that it was the third day that Geno was in the states, when he first heard him laugh.

 

If he had to pinpoint exactly when he fell in love with him, well, that would be a little more difficult.

 

There was a lot, is all.

 

There’s a lot.

 

*********

 

To be fair, Geno doesn’t really look at Sid for the first two years he knows him. Not like that, anyway. It’s safer to be something other than straight in America, but not everyone he cares about is in America. Plus, he really likes Russia.

 

It’s just easier to look at girls, and only girls. And for a long time, Sid is just Sid; his captain and friend.

 

And then one night they’re at a bar, and Sid is next to him not getting drunk with the rest of the guys. Laughing and joking and fending off chirps and stuck to Geno’s side, until suddenly he’s not, and G is left with a table full of slightly drunk hockey players who need to get back to a hotel without major injury.

 

He looks for him, and when he finds him, it’s in the back of bar with a stranger sticking his tongue down his throat and isn’t _that_ interesting?

 

And then he’s stuck thinking about it.

 

And then he’s stuck thinking about _Sid_.

 

And then he’s stuck thinking about _Sid_ like _that_ and it goes downhill from there.

 

(He doesn’t _know_ when he loves Sid, thinks maybe he always did, but at least he can point to a single event and say ‘ _That. That is what set this whole thing into motion._ ’)

 

**...**

 

It definitely starts with little things. Or maybe just one big thing, that leads to him looking at the little things that have been happening and he’s missed.

 

Either way, Sid knows that he might be toeing the line between best friends and something more, but he doesn’t know who else to go to.

 

Duper is retiring, and Sid is maybe freaking out a little.

 

“Sid?”

 

Geno answers the door in nothing but a ratty t shirt and his underwear. Sid feels his face heat with embarrassment.

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry G, I’ll—I’m sorry.” He steps back a little, shifting his feet. He could probably find Flower’s room, but he promised Duper he was fine and if he has to ask around for Flower’s room number then Pascal’s going to hear about it. And then he’s going to be mad Sid lied to him.

 

He made Sid promise, right after he told him he was retiring. “ _Promise me you wont shut me out.”_

 

Whoops.

 

“Sid.” There’s a hand on his arm. “Already woke me up, might as well come in.”

 

Sid stares down Geno’s hand, nodding rapidly before realizing how dumb that looks. “You were in bed,” he corrects, stepping into the dim room. “It’s ten, you weren’t asleep.”

 

The door clicks shut behind him, and Geno flops back onto his bed, sticking his tongue out at Sid. “Not know, maybe I’m very tired having to carry you whole game.”

 

Sid stares down at the corner of the bed. The sheets are untucked because Geno doesn’t like to sleep with them shoved under the mattress. He’s very much a ‘one leg outside of the covers’ sort of sleeper. Sid burrows, barely keeping his head above his blankets.

 

He shouldn’t know that, probably. Shouldn’t think about it, what it would be like if they had to sleep together in the same bed.

 

Geno obviously realizes somethings wrong. He might’ve taken the chirp when he was younger, but they’ve been together for so long and Sids grown now. He always has a response.

 

He sits up on the bed and suddenly Sid feels awkwardly overdressed, still in his jeans and shirt and jacket and shoes. It feels like a crime to be wearing all that while Geno’s there looking soft and relaxed and _concerned._ This isn’t what Sid came for. He doesn’t know why—well he knows why, but not why Geno.

 

“Sid? Everything okay?”

 

Sidney nods hurriedly, driving his thumb into the middle of his palm. The rubbing motion lets him relax while the pain grounds him, and he’s always, always done it right before a panic attack.

 

Shit.

 

Geno’s still looking at him, and to his complete and utter embarrassment he feels his eyes start to burn. His face twists and he looks away in some attempt to stop the sob before it climbs out of his chest, but then Genos standing and folding him into his arms and there nothing stopping it.

 

G doesn’t say anything at first, just lets Sidney cry into his shoulder. He doesn’t even push for an explanation. Sid can give in to everything when he’s with Geno, because he knows, maybe better than anyone, what it’s like.

 

When Sid has soaked through his t shirt with not a single sign of stopping, Geno ushers him to the bed, making him sit before talking to him.

 

“Shh, shh is okay Sid. We figure out, yes? Is okay. Just breath.”

 

He keeps murmuring to Sid, little bits of nothing that he clings to in an attempt to drag himself out of the well of panic and hurt. It’s like once he started he can’t stop, and they probably sit there for an hour before Sid can finally calm down.

 

The shoulder of G’s shirt is totally soaked through. He’s definitely going to have to wash that before he wears it again. Sid’s nose is completely stuffed up and when he swallows he gets this sort of clicking noise instead.

 

He apologizes softly, tears still spilling softly down his cheeks. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have come here at all, except that he doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating anymore. He doesn’t feel like the hotel is too small for him to be in. He doesn’t feel like everything’s about to fall apart around him.

 

Geno breaks the silence while Sid paws at his swollen cheeks.

 

“Want to talk?” His voice is soft, like anything more might break Sidney. He might be right.

 

“No.” Sid murmurs at first, his voice is watery and weak. He sniffles and drags a hand across his face before propping his elbows on his knees and running hands through his hair. “Maybe.”

 

“Sid if—”

 

“Duper’s leaving.”

 

Geno doesn’t say anything for a few moments, then there’s a heavy “Oh.” That almost sounds...relieved?

 

He stares at the floor. The carpet is a weird shade of brown.

 

“Duper’s _leaving.”_ He whispers. “He told me he’s retiring and I—I want the best for him of course, and he needs to take care of his health first, so it’s so—so _selfish_ of me to be freaking out like this.”

 

Geno looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Not selfish, Sid. You probably least selfish person I know, maybe least selfish ever. Not selfish to be scared, not stupid to not want close friend to leave.”

 

“I shouldn’t have—”

 

“ _Sid_ .” Geno taps his thigh until he turns to face him. “Is _okay_ , okay? You not perfect, not made of stone. Duper know this, know is hard for you. Why he tell you first, so you not have to walk around and play game feeling like you do when you walk into my room.” He smiles, this small careful thing, and Sid feels the corners of his mouth try to mirror. “People know you Sid, not everyone so terrible. He not try to hurt you, but know you be hurt.”

 

It sort of registers then, exactly what they look like. Sitting so close their thighs touch, only a lamp on to cast the room in a soft brown haze of light. Just enough to make Geno’s skin glow, just enough to make his tears look like less than they were.

 

Just enough, so that if one his closest friends wasn’t leaving hockey for good while Sid flailed around without an anchor, and he hadn’t just been a mess of snot and tears, then he might’ve leaned forward and seen what it would be like to feel Geno’s lips on his.

 

(But then he’d _really_ lose everything, and Geno might lose everything too, and he may be a coward but at least he’s realistic about it. At least he’s self aware enough to know _that_ is on the list of things he can want but never have.)

  


*****

 

“What happened?!”

 

“Is—Mama, have accident.” He waves a hand, like it doesn’t bother him. Like he hasn’t had to talk himself out of buying plane tickets and flying to Russia immediately.

 

Like his mother’s own snappy message isn’t the only thing keeping him from doing so.

 

Sid looks as distressed as Geno feels, but then when he asked Geno where he was (they were supposed to go out to lunch) he’d only responded with the words ‘family emergency’ so he can’t really blame him.

 

“Is she okay? Do you need to go? I can talk to Mario and management and everyone, I’ll take care of it if you need to—”

 

“ _Sid_.” He snaps. “Breathe, yes? Not deal with you freak out. I’m freak out enough.”

 

He actually does, which is a feat in of itself. “I can still—if you need to go?”

 

Geno forces himself to take a deep breath. “I—no. Mama say she kill me if I do.”

 

Sid looks at him oddly, tension starting to leak from his shoulders. “So she’s okay? You talked to her?”

 

“Papa give phone to her, she yell when I say I’m go.” He shudders. “Not want to have angry mama, but…”

 

“But being this far away from her makes you feel like you can’t do anything to help and you’re not used to not being able to help.” Sid says it like he knows exactly what Zhenya’s feeling, exactly what the tight ball of panic and fear in his chest is doing to his sanity.

 

He’s right, anyway.

 

Geno nods. Sid puts his hands on his hips, cheeks flushed and looking all the more looking like a mother hen who had to panic about one of her chicks.

 

“Well—shit.”

 

Geno raises an eyebrow and nods.

 

Sid gives him a look. “You’re staying in then right?”

 

“Yes—”

 

“I’ll make lunch.”

 

It’s so decisive Geno manages a smile. The Captain, always with a plan. Always strong enough for everyone else to lean on.

 

**...**

 

The concussion takes a lot.

 

Sid feels like that’s pretty obvious. It takes a lot from him and it takes a lot from his team

 

Today's been especially bad, to the point that he’s thinking he shouldn’t have tried to come down stairs to his living room because now he’s going to have to go back up them before he goes to bed.

 

It’s been weeks now, and he’s still having days like this. And while it was one thing before, when he comforted himself with the knowledge that the team still had Geno, that they still had that one voice to lean on while Sid couldn’t, now they _don’t_.

 

They don’t, and Sid wants so desperately to be better so he can be there for them, be there for _Geno_ . He wants to be better. He wants to play hockey. He wants to be able to _think_ about playing hockey again without his brain trying to melt out his ear or whatever the fuck.

 

He watched the game. While the commentators talked about Geno getting helped off the ice, he was puking into a trashcan, and he still doesn’t know if it was because of the concussion or the amount of unbridled panic that had risen in his throat.

 

 _‘Surgery,’_ Mario told him, when he’d come over to check on Sid a few days later. ‘ _He’s not going back anytime soon.’_

 

It takes a lot.

 

Since he hasn’t been able to work up to attempting his phone, he’s been getting all his updates through whoever stops by his house to make sure he isn’t dead. A good thing too, seeing as at the moment he can’t even see straight; his head still sort of feeling like it’s too heavy for his neck to hold up.

 

He’s been sitting on the couch for a while now, long enough that maybe the dim light of the room isn’t just due to his curtains being drawn tight. Practice is possibly over—so that's not really a surprise to hear the gate rattle open and then close again. It’s not even that much a surprise when the car doesn’t shut off, just allows a door to open and shut before driving off again.

 

It is however, a surprise to hear some angry Russian instead of French.

 

“What are you doing here?” He croaks, trying to blink through the haze to see Geno. It’s sort of a lost effort, so he keeps his head against the back of the couch and closes his eyes with a sigh. He should probably get up to help G, seeing as he just had fucking surgery.

 

The front door shuts with a slam that makes Sid flinch. He doesn’t get up.

 

There’s some muttering in Russia and the occasional click of crutches against his tile floor. Sid isn’t really tracking things well at the moment so he really doesn’t know how long it takes for Geno to make it through the kitchen to the living room. All he knows is the way his neck aches that adds to the constant pain in his head and the suddenness of a warm hand on his forehead. He didn’t even realize G was next to him.

 

There’s a sigh, and the hand brushes unwashed hair from his forehead before disappearing. He’d feel bad if he could work up the energy to care, but—it’s _a lot_. He wanted to shower today, but then by the time he got downstairs he had to spend an hour dry heaving in the bathroom, and then it was just a mission to get to the couch.

 

He couldn’t even lie down without the nausea coming back. Can’t even remember when he last ate. It hurts all the time, but being laid out like this, wide open with all his walls down and not a single grasp on what makes him real makes him want to _sob_. It’s not even about hockey anymore, although the need to be on ice is so ingrained in him that he’s restless without it, itching at his skin like it doesn’t fit him anymore.

 

He can’t even see an end to it either. He’s not getting better, not like he should be, and if the constant pain wasn’t enough, it’s compounded by a boredom that serves as a constant reminder of what he _isn’t_.

 

He hasn’t seen Geno in weeks. Doesn’t remember it if he has. Geno being here now—being easy with him, calm and gentle in a way the others aren’t, not pushing like they do—he really might cry.

 

Everyone always wants something from him. Geno wasn’t the exception to that. It’s just that all Geno wanted was a friend. The same thing Flower wanted, the same thing Tanger wanted. The same thing Sid needed, and willingly gave.

 

He doesn’t ask Sid anything, doesn’t try to talk him into eating or showering or standing from the couch or doing PT or anything. There’s no expectations for Sid here, and _god_ Sid has missed him.

 

There’s a little bit of a groan, then a soft _‘whump’_ as Geno plops down next to him on the couch. Crutches are moved, then a few pillows if he can trust his ears. He’s probably elevating his knee. Maybe got an ice pack from the freezer before limping his way over here.

 

Then there’s a tug on his arm, gentle but insistent and Sid really, really might start crying out because of how grateful he is to have Geno in his life.

 

“Lay down Sid.” G’s voice is quiet, rumbling from deep in his chest and weighed down by pain.

 

“Gonna hurt you.” He says back. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

 

Another tug. “Not hurt Sid. Other leg, is fine.”

 

He doesn’t wait for another invitation. It’s little more than a slow slide down to curl on his side, head pillowed carefully on Geno’s thigh. His stomach cramps but doesn’t threaten to revolt again. A soft weight settles over his shoulders, and it takes him a few seconds to realize it’s a blanket. Geno’s hand finds the side of Sid’s head, fingers running through his hair in a slow but rhythmic pattern that settles him instantly.

 

Geno’s always known how to do that. Even when they were rookies, blindly navigating the NHL, it was always okay for him to relax, as long as Geno was there with him.

 

“Never answered why.” He sighs. He wonders if anyone knows Geno left his house. He wonders if anyone would care. If anyone would even be surprised.

 

Geno hums, fingers still trailing through Sids curls. “Have to stick around, yes? What if you forget me?” He teases.

 

“I could never forget you G.” He mumbles, relaxing into the couch as the ever present headache eases some. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep for a few hours. Maybe tomorrow he can manage a shower. Maybe Geno will come over again.

 

Maybe he’ll stay.

 

Geno’s hand still for a few moments. Sid never wants this to stop.

 

“Promise?”

 

He almost misses the word in its entirety, Geno’s voice being quiet as it is. It’s fragile, the question. Sid gets that, that terrifying notion that he could disappear and no one would notice. That without hockey, he isn’t worth anything.

 

“Promise, G.”

 

The fingers return their course across his scalp, and Sid falls asleep.

 

***

 

“This _sucks_.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I hate this.”

 

“Am same, Sid.”

 

He’s all for PT, but really Geno doesn’t know what he was thinking when he suggested they run together.

 

Well that’s a lie. He was thinking that they both had to see how their injuries would respond, and while his knee is pretty much healed, Sid isn’t quiet out of the woods with the concussion. Soon, he’s been telling Geno. Sid’s even been on the ice, noncontact but working, seeing how well his head deals with the exertion. The whole time Geno had to keep Flower and Tanger from fretting too much, and he’s not very sure he succeeded. This way he’d get to keep an eye on him.

 

But then again it’s _running_ , which they both had but that Sid has actual anxiety over, so it’s pretty much a miracle they even got out of the house.

 

Actually, now that he thinks about it Sid gave in _way_ to easy when Geno said he’d go with—

 

“Can we stop running please? I’m dying.”

 

“Shame.” Geno puffs. “Have to plan funeral when get back. Color flowers you want Sid? I’m call Tanger, he get.”

 

“ _Asshole_.”

 

“Flower be very sad.” Lord he needs to stop talking, but the urge to chirp sid is too great. “Give very nice speech.”

 

“Geno I _swear_ —”

 

“Sometimes—” He huffs, turning the corner and slowing down just a little so Sid can catch up. “—sound like can still hear voice.”

 

Sid punches him in the arm as he runs past. Apparently he’s suddenly been reinvigorated. Geno’s sure it’s got nothing to do with having turned onto his street.

 

“Slow whole time till now!” He calls. Sidney just laughs, a full blow honk that makes Geno smile.

 

He missed this.

 

His knee wasn’t all bad, even if it was pretty shitty. He was in pain and Sid was in pain, but for a lot of it they were together. He got to see a part of Sid he never even knew existed, but it was one born of the inability to hold things in.

 

Sid still trusted him to be there, so it must count for something.

 

That said, he came back before Sid did, and that wasn’t something he foresaw. Neither was the intense feeling of loneliness that occured when he went back to the team, like he lost Sid for good instead of a few more months.

 

He missed Sid. _His_ Sid, the dorky Captain who went with him to McDonalds at three AM to get fries and shakes while they were both still on IR, the guy who talked for hours about the American Civil War and who made Geno tell him about Russia when he couldn’t even get up from bed.

 

The Sid no one else has seen. The one Geno’s slowly realizing he might be in love with.

 

And who might love him back.

 

**...**

 

Sid is very, very drunk, and very, very happy. It’s June, and he’s still in Pittsburgh, and the cup is on a floaty, drifting around Mario’s pool, along with a few of his teammates who’s state of consciousness is questionable.

 

Very, _very_ happy.

 

Someone’s yelling his name from across the yard, and Sid’s got enough time with his drink to yell back _“What!”_ before Geno comes crashing into his side.

The cool part about being happy and drunk is that everyone around Sid is also, coincidentally, happy and drunk.

 

“Dance with me, Sid!”

 

“You’re drunk as hell Geno, I’m not dancing with you.” Sid laughs, watching as G tries to get around Tanger who’s lying across the table, grinning at the sky like a madman.

 

“ _Dance_ Sid, we go. Now.” He reaches around Tanger’s head to grab Sids hand. He literally hits the solo cup out of Sids hand to grab it and drag him out of the chair.

 

“ _Geno_.” He whines, stumbling over—something? Hopefully not a person. Who cares.

 

He’s apparently gonna dance with Geno, and that sounds so fantastic as long as he ignores the fact that he cannot, in fact, dance to save his live.

 

Geno can’t either, but as previously stated—everyone else is drunk. The music is barely audible, but G is dancing to it anyway, and he’s got his hands on Sid’s hips to make him do the same.

 

It should be embarrassing, it should be weird, it should be so many things but he doesn’t _care_ he’s smiling so hard his face is gonna hurt tomorrow.

 

And then the music changes, some sappy slow song taking over and the guys decide they’re all gonna dance together.

 

And then Sid finds himself in Genos arms, head on his shoulder, dancing barefoot in the grass while Geno’s breath tickles his ear.

 

And then he thinks it might be heaven, that moment and he’s looking up at Geno’s lips and he’s licking his own and yeah, yeah he could do this—

 

And _then_ he’s on his ass with a dull ache in his ankle because Mario’s lawn has decided to fuck up the most perfect moment of his life and he’s laughing so hard he’s crying, they won the cup and he’s too drunk for any of it.

 

****

 

“Okay be honest.” Geno pokes his head out of the kitchen to see Sid standing with his hands on his hips in front of at least six different bags, all near bursting

 

“Is this too much?”

 

“Honest?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He shrugs. “I think you get home, unpack everything, then wear same three shirts for whole summer anyway.”

 

Sid gapes at him for a second before he whacks Genos arm.

 

“You _ass_ —”

 

“Is true!” Another whack, and another, but they’re light and Sid is doing that dumb thing where he’s trying not to smile but failing horribly. Geno’s grinning while he shies away into the kitchen. “You say be honest—stop hitting, Sid! So violent!”

 

He does, but only after a deep huff. It’s probably supposed to be annoyed, but it comes across as way too fond, and not for the first time Geno thinks...maybe.

 

“You’re horrible!” Sid yells, stomping back into the hallway like he’s actually mad.

 

“You worst!” G yells back, and then he’s got to aggressively start cutting vegetables to not deal with how domestic they are.

 

**...**

 

 _“You done packing yet?”_ Genos voice is distorted coming through the shitty speaker of his phone.

 

Sid huffs, glaring at the piles of clothes around him. “I don’t remember having so many shirts? Like why…” He tosses yet another black shirt behind. “I don’t have enough room my suitcase for this.”

 

_“It’s like six days Sid. How you pack before?”_

 

“I just throw everything into bags! And it’s not just six days, it’s six days plus four airports plus a totally foreign climate and…”

 

 _‘...and I’m seeing you.’_ Goes unsaid.

 

They haven’t talked about it. He was supposed to start that conversation before Geno left, but then Geno was babbling about going to Russia, and how Sid needed to come, and Sid said yes like an idiot.

 

Although at the time, it was better than saying _“I’m so fucking in love with you it’s honestly a miracle I can get anything done._ ”

 

“ _Sid_?”

 

“What? Sorry.” He blinks, then tosses a nice collared shirt over his shoulder. It’s navy blue with tiny anchors on it and he’s pretty sure his mom got it for him for Christmas but it fits surprisingly well and Geno commented on how Sid looked good in blues. Sue him if most of his suitcase is filled with things he knows G’s appreciative of.

 

“ _Don’t have to come you know.”_ Geno says slowly. Sid stares at the wall, blinking for a second to make sure he heard the words right. Then he scrambles for the phone, knocking over a stack of clothes and whacking his knee on the bed in the process.

 

He punches the button to turn off speaking and shoves it at his ear. “What? No way G, I’m gonna be there.”

 

Geno doesn’t say anything and Sid suddenly feels unsure.

 

“Unless…” His shoulders start to rise, tense. “Unless you don’t want me there?”

 

There’s a pause where he thinks Geno’s gonna say ‘ _no, don’t come, shouldn’t have invited you in the first place’_ and he instinctively fills the silence with excuses for him. “I mean you—like if you're busy, obviously I get it, and I don’t want to impose, it’s totally okay if you—”

 

“S _id_.”

 

“What?”

 

“ _Shush your face for two seconds yes? I’m want you here._ ” He mutters something away from the phone. His tone is fond, exasperated even, and if he were here he’d be able to see Sid’s cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

 

He has to remind himself a lot, that Geno wants him there. That others—Flower, Tanger, Duper—  want him there. When they invite him places it’s not a formality. It’s taken him a while to get to that mentality, what with the ‘friends’ he had growing up, but at least he knows with these guys.

 

“Okay.” Sid takes a deep breath and forces his jaw to unclench. “Sorry, I didn’t—I don’t want you to feel pressured you know, I—”

 

“ _I don’t. How many ways I need to say it Sid? Want different language, make you believe it?”_

 

“No, I just want—”

 

_“You want be sad in lonely old house, have to hang out with little angry bear and exercise all the time, I’m know this. But I’m want you to come to Russia, and you best Captain so have to do.”_

 

“Did you just call Nate an angry bear?”

 

 _“Little. Little angry bear. Is cute, Sid._ ”

 

He almost chokes on his spit. “Nathan MacKinnon is not _cute_ , what the hell G?” He sputters.

 

“Wow, rude.”

 

Sid yelps, jumping about a foot in air as a different voice shatters the peaceful private bubble that is his bedroom.

 

“Jesus _Christ.”_ He breathes out. Nate just smiles, the little shit he is. “I gotta go, this annoying neighbor just broke into my house again.”

 

He hangs up on the sound of Geno’s laughter. Nate’s looking around his room—which, yeah it’s a mess and he might’ve emptied every drawer he’s got just to go through clothes—but still.

 

“Holy _shit_ , Sid.”

 

“Do you ever _fucking_ knock?!” He yells. Nate just grins, wide and toothy, from where he’s standing in the bedroom doorway. “Seriously, do you know what a doorbell is?! Do I need to show you how to use one?”

 

“I was checking on you to see how badly you were freaking out!”

 

“I am not ‘freaking out’.” He quotes the words with his fingers, eyes narrowed. Nate just raises an eyebrow back.

 

“How long have you been packing for?”

 

“Shut up, that is not—oh my god you’re a _dick_ , why am I friends with you?”

 

“I put up with your shit.”

 

Sid opens his mouth, then closes it, nodding. “Fair.” Nate surveys the room again, and a few things connect in Sids head. “Wait, you came over to check on _me_?”

 

Nate blinks. “Well yeah—”

 

“You don’t come over unless you don’t want to cook.” Sid points out.

 

Mac has the audacity to look offended. “I come over for more than _that_.” He scoffs. “And I’m hurt that you think that’s all we are Sid. Seriously, that cuts deep, I’m gonna have to talk to my therapist about it—”

 

“Flower sent you.” Sid says flatly.

 

“Yup.”

 

“God, why do you—how do you even have his number?! How—no, god, please don’t tell me, I’m sure the story is much worse than I’m imagining.”

 

“We are not _that bad,_ Sidney.” He scoffs.

 

Sid rolls his eyes, not wanting to get into it. “Shut up and help me pick out shirts.”

 

There’s copious amounts of alcohol consumed, and Sid does end up cooking, but by the end of the night his suitcase is packed full of things that make him look decent, and it’s not all blue. Total win.

 

**...**

 

There’s a lot of yelling that happens in the Fleury household. Yet, the floor still somehow remains clean and the kids presentable and Vero looking like the queen she is, so Sid’s allowed to be jealous.

 

There’s a LEGO digging into his back, and something sticky on his shirt, and his hands are covered in different colors of various types of make-up. He’s also lying on the floor of the hallway because that’s where Scarlet demanded he stay until she was done with her bath, and given the situation upstairs, he’s gonna be there a while.

 

It’s sort of awesome.

 

“I expect to hear words, Sidney!” Flower yells at him from the downstairs bathroom where he’s trying to convince his other daughter to get in the tub. “This is prime gossip time, I _want_ the _details_.”

 

Sid smiles happily. He probably looks like an idiot, but okay the whole trip to Moscow and everything was just—just thinking about it makes his chest feel warm and a giddy smile appear on his face and he’s screwed, he really is, but who cares.

 

“I’ve _died_.” He states, definitive. He has. What a shame.

 

“Did you two kiss?!” Flower screeches, despite the bathroom literally being a few feet down the hall. A happy scream of a small child answers him before Sid.

 

He picks at something sticky in his hair that might be a clump of nail polish. “I—we did not, you neanderthal!” Sometimes he wants to yell at his team, because not _everything_ is about sex, Jesus _Christ_.

 

There’s some splashing and more yelling. Upstairs, Vero is still chasing around a stark naked Scarlet armed with a princess nightgown and flurry of French threats.

 

“Oh, sure.” Flower draws out the word, soaking it in skepticism. “Go on a romantic week long getaway, realize you’re so incredibly in love with him you just can’t bear to leave, stay another week, and have a teary goodbye, torn apart because of your job, but there’s no kissing involved? Come on Sid, you’ve insulted Shakespeare with that lie.”

 

“It’s not a lie!” He yells back, and he definitely sounds disappointed about that fact. Damn it. “And people go on vacation all the time, it’s totally platonic!”

 

There’s a pause, then Flower sticks his head out of the door to look at him skeptically. His hair is soaked and plastered into a spike on top of his head. There’s a lot of bubbles.

 

“Oh yes, because everything I just said was _totally platonic sounding_.”

 

“Listen Flower, I am not about to—”

 

“Jeopardize the team, I know.” Marc-Andre sighs, retreating back into the bath. “Sid, no one’s going to care.”

 

“They _absolutely_ will. But that’s not the issue, if Geno—”

 

“How many people need to tell you he likes you back before you believe it? Because I can get a queue going—”

 

“—if we don’t work out.” Sid snaps, because that’s not really a conversation he wants to have. “And he leaves? Or we can’t work together, that would hurt the team and I can’t jeopardize his career or anyone who plays for me just because I want to be happy!”

 

His eyes widen as he realizes what he said. Flower pokes his head out of the door again, this time looking much less playful.

 

“Say that shit again,” He threatens, voice dripping with anger. “And I will personally tell Geno that you like him. And then at your wedding I will take several hours telling every single person there about every single embarrassing thing I’ve ever seen you do. There will be line for the microphone and a live stream accessible to anyone with an phone.”

 

Sid swallows. “I—”

 

“Not a _word_ , Sid. You can take yourself deprecating ideas somewhere else, because I won’t hear it.”

 

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” Flower raises an eyebrow but retreats back into the bathroom for a second time. There’s the sound of a plastic squeaking and a wet _‘thwap’_ that means the dad of two just got bruised by a rubber duck with an eye patch (his name is Squiggles, no, he doesn’t know where it came from).

 

There’s a triumphant “ _Aha_!” from upstairs, and Sid peels himself off the floor. Gossip time is over.

 

***

 

Geno may not speak the same language as them, but he knows trouble when he sees it. And Flower and Tanger sidling up on either side of Genos stall after practice while Sid is conveniently in the showers spells it out very clearly.

 

He eyes Flower suspiciously. The Cheshire smile he get in response is not reassuring.

 

“What?” He huffs. Tanger starts playing with his ring, like that’ll pass for casual.

 

“Nothing, mon amie,” The D-man responds, still looking at his hands. “We were just wondering what exactly your intentions were with our captain.”

 

Geno relaxes almost instantly. The shovel talk. He’s been waiting for this. Honestly he thought it might’ve been a little more dramatic, but he knows Flower and he knows Tanger. They don’t need dramatic; he’s very aware that they can make his life hell.

 

Not that he would ever hurt Sid. But he knows.

 

Which makes this conversation a lot more fun on his part.

 

“Intention?” He sounds the word out slowly, poorly like he doesn’t know it. Tanger rolls his eyes while Geno continues to pack his bag. Why does he have three things of deodorant?

 

“We know you know what we’re saying, G.” He loses the casual lean and stands, not obviously drawing himself up, but definitely bringing himself to his full height.

 

Not that Tanger is small or anything, but Geno’s taller. Geno knows he taller. Geno has to stop himself from laughing because Kris looks like a puffed up cat. It’s hilarious.

 

“Right.” He nods. “Okay. I’m think I take him to little Italian place downtown tonight, because Sid was being picky which mean he hungry but also we come off long roadie so he need cheat day. Sid cheat day is nice date with lots of pasta and dessert.” He grins at the two them, proud that not only can he show off his Sid Knowledge, but also that he gets to fuck around with the two of them a little longer.

 

“This my ‘intention’, yes? Very good. Lots of wine too.” And they’ll go back to Sid’s place where Sid will argue with him about TV selection and they’ll end up watching home improvement shows until Sid falls asleep on Genos shoulder.

 

Just like they’ve done after nearly every date so far.

 

Sids never invited him to stay the night, and Geno never has out of respect. It took them so long to get to where they are now, and they haven’t even really talked about it. He was unsure of what Sid warned for a while, but when he agreed to come to Russia; Geno was pretty sure.

 

(When the trip turned into the best two weeks of Geno’s life, he was _very_ sure.)

 

He'd come back early to Pittsburgh, asked Sid out, and the rest was history.

 

He can tell Sid’s still scared though. Of what, he hasn’t figured out, not quite. It could be the touching thing, although Sid’s always allowed more contact from Geno than anyone else. And if it’s a sex thing—well then that’s just as dumb. Geno doesn’t care, he never did. If Sid needs more time, then Geno will happily give it to him.

 

He’s sure that might be what the two Québécois want to hear, and since he didn’t give them that he expects them to be annoyed. When he looks up from needlessly rearranging his backpack, Flower and Tanger do not seems annoyed by his avoidance of the question.

 

Flower sort of looks like he wants to throw up, actually.

 

“What?” Tanger croaks. Geno raises an eyebrow.

 

“I’m take him to dinner tonight.” He repeats slowly. “Italian. Little place on corner so no one bother him. Dessert. What more I’m need to do?”

 

Flowers face does something weird. “But—you called it a date?”

 

“Because it is date.” He pauses. “Been on many before, Flower. Is just problem now?”

 

“It’s not a problem.” Tanger responds, although the way his voice is oddly high pitched seems to say otherwise.

 

“You’ve been on _multiple_ dates?!”

 

Genos frowns, glancing at Tanger. He’s starting to feel actual concern for Flower at this point.

 

“You need get head checked? Been dating Sid since summer. People go on dates. Why called ‘dating.’”

 

“Right. Right okay. That makes sense, thanks Geno!” He frowns at Kris’ louder than normal voice while the pair vacates the area around his stall. Although Flower sort of looks like he needs to sit down.

 

He finds out why when there’s a hand on his back and Sid slips around him, hair still wet from the shower. His curls are in full force, which makes Sids annoyance of them especially amusing.

 

Sid looks at them as they walk off, suspicion and concern waring in his expression. “What was that about?”

 

“Nothing Sid.” He says primly. “Is special meeting, captain not invited.”

 

“If you freeze my underwear again…”

 

Geno smiles, sticking his tongue between his teeth as a response. Sid rolls his eyes, grumbling under his breath while he gets dressed.

 

A little bit of unease coils in his stomach, making a home at the back of his mind. Their conversation is not as easily forgotten as he’d like it to be.

 

**...**

 

“Hi, how’s it going we need to talk.” The words don’t seem to have spaces between them as Flower walks right into his living room looking especially distraught.

 

He also speed walks straight to the kitchen, all of it happening so fast Sid has to question if he’s hallucinating. There’s a loud bang in the kitchen that makes him start.

 

He sighs, turning off the TV to follow his friend.

 

“You know I feel like I might need to start holding classes on how to properly enter someone’s house.” He snaps, watching Flower bang around his freezer and finally produce a tub of ice cream that has bright red lettering on it to denote its rightful owner.

 

There’s probably something to be said about how at least a third of the team has their own carton of cheat ice cream in his freezer, yet he still gets shit for wanting fries every once in a while.

 

Flower picks up a random spoon from the sink, makes a face at it, and tossed it back to dive for the silverware drawer instead.

 

Sid sighs. “Alright spill, I want to relax before I go tonight.”

 

Flower nods, mouth full of some super chocolate concoction. “Oh you’re going out? How weird.”

 

“Yeah with—”

 

“No no don’t tell me.” Marc-Andre stabs at the ice cream with an unnecessary amount of force. “Lemme guess. Geno. Just you two. Little Italian place downtown that’s wedged in the corner of two streets but tourists can never find the entrance so it’s almost always pretty laid back so no one's going to bother you. You already picked out what dessert you want, and we have afternoon practice tomorrow so you can have more than one glass of wine and not care.”

 

Sid stares, brow furrowed. “Yeah how did you—”

 

“It’s a date.”

 

“What?”

 

Flower drops the ice cream onto the counter and leans both hands on it. “It’s a _date_ Sid. It’s a date, you’re dating him.”

 

“I—”

 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

 

Sid gapes, mouth open but no words coming out. Flower isn’t just upset, he’s _angry_. And Sidney doesn’t even know what he’s talking about.

 

“It’s not—it’s not a _date_ , we aren’t—we aren’t—what?”

 

Flowers posture crumples, and he looks hurt. Sid reaches for him in some aborted movement. He doesn’t know what to say to make this better, he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong.

 

“You’re seriously going to lie to my face now, Sid?”

 

He shakes his head. “No, no I’m not _lying_ , I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’m not dating Geno!”

 

Flower should know this, he does know this. Flowers been there through every late night angst session whenever Sid feels the need to complain about the fact. He’d have been the first person Sid would tell.

 

Which is maybe why he looks so destroyed right now. Sidney doesn’t know where he got the idea, but if he thinks Sid wouldn’t tell him and is now lying to him...well. Sid can’t blame him for looking like he’s about to cry.

 

“Marc-Andre…”

 

“Shut up.” The goalie hisses. Sid recoils at the venom in his voice. He feels panic well up in his chest, pure and unbridled. If he can’t fix this, he might lose his best friend. “Just shut up, Sid.”

 

“Flower.” He takes a deep breath. “Flower, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not dating him.”

 

“God damn it Sid can you just shut up for two seconds?! Can you manage not to lie to me for just one fucking minute—”

 

“I’m not lying!” He yells back, feels his throat get tight.

 

“ _Tabarnak, you stupid man!_ He told me himself!”

 

Sid flinches back like he’d been hit. Flowers voice was so loud and so _angry._ He’s never heard him sound like that.

 

The silence afterwards doesn’t last, but at least they’re calmer. Even if Flower’s voice is soft, it’s heavy. Resigned. _Hurt_.

 

“Geno told me and Tanger. He told us about how you got together after Russia, how you’ve been _together_. How tonight is another date.”

 

Sidney feels all the blood drain from his face and he has to grab the countertop to keep steady.

 

“Flower.” He whispers. He needs to sit down. He needs to call Geno, he needs to hear Flower tell him it’s just a prank.

 

He can’t be serious right now. This can’t be real.

 

“Flower, I _swear to god_. I’m not. Dating. Geno.” He swallows. Flower narrows his eyes and Sid wants to start sobbing. “I’m not lying, I’ll— swear on my sister’s life, if you need it. I’m not dating him.”

 

The resilience that his friend holds is phenomenal, because he drops his shoulders in relief and instantly moves forward to hug Sid. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles, and Sid nods before they break apart, both of them pretending not to see the other wipe at their eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, Sid. I thought—”

 

“No, it makes sense.” He says in a watery voice. “I mean I wish you’d have a little more faith that I wouldn’t lie to you for three months, but if Geno said...then I see it.”

 

Flower looks guilty, but he nods. “I shouldn’t have instantly believed him.”

 

Sid shrugs, pushing his hands together. “Maybe he was just playing a joke? “

 

Marc-Andre’s face darkens. “You better hope not, because if it was I’m gonna kill him.”

 

“Flower…”

 

“No. You don’t do that. He knew what he was saying to us and he knew how we’d take it. You don’t joke about that. Not with my friends.”

 

He sighs, but now that he’s got time to think about it, things start to click.

 

“Did he say since Russia?”

 

“Three months, so I assumed…”

 

Sid shifts, still driving his thumb into his palm. “What if—”

 

A pair of hands envelope his, stopping the motion born of stress. Sid didn’t even realize Flower was in front of him.

 

“What if he wasn’t joking?” He murmurs.

 

Marc-Andres brow furrows. “Then why would he say that?”

 

“Because he believes it.”

 

***

 

He doesn’t mean to think about it. The whole conversation shouldn’t have given him pause, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes they might really have a problem.

 

Sid tells Flower everything. So for Flower to not know they were dating, might mean that somehow Geno has managed to think they were dating while Sid think’s they’re not. It would be more worrisome if not for the fact that Geno remembers the Cup Party, when Sid looked at him like _that_. Sid looks at him like that all the time now, and he might be shit at communicating, but he’s not dense.

 

Still, he tries to walk into this date like every other one they’ve had. Like they’re dating. Because they _are_.

 

“Are we on a date right now?!” Sid blurts, rudely interrupting his detailed explanation of the prank he’s about to attempt on Tanger.

 

Because they _should be_ , but Sid is slow when it comes to non-hockey things.

 

Geno slowly raises his eyes, looking around the restaurant. “...yes?”

 

He almost wishes he had a camera. If it were under nearly any other circumstances, he would be kicking himself for not whipping out his phone, because the look on Sid’s face is absolutely priceless. There’s a flush rising in his cheeks, and his eyes go wider than the dinner plates they’re eating off of.

 

He really did _not_ want to be right about this whole thing.

 

“Sid, what you think we been doing last three months?”

 

Sid blushes even harder. “I thought—that was just what we...normally do...oh Christ.” He mutters, and then buries his face in his hands. “G, I am so sorry, I should have realized.”

 

Geno narrows his eyes, a hard knot of unease in his stomach. He’s sure Sid still wants this. He knows that.

 

“You...not know?” He slowly sets down his fork. “After Russia, I’m think— dates, Sid. Went on so many?”

 

“Right. Right. No, no I should’ve realized—” He seems to think on something, and confusion colors his features. “But we haven't- and we— all those times you came over after, why didn’t you ever…like I’m not saying that’s needed, just I definitely would’ve gotten the picture.”

 

Geno shrugs. It’s his turn to look sheepish, because yeah, that would’ve solidified things. He also could’ve actually talked to Sid, but whatever. “You not talk about, I’m think….always tell guys everything about sex. Think maybe you don’t like. Don’t want.”

Sid face — which was colored so wonderfully — goes pale, and his eye looks glassy. Geno panics, afraid he said the wrong thing, but Sid is...smiling?

 

He takes a deep breath. “You not say you not want, Sid.”

 

“Well— I mean I— you’re sure?” Sid asks, looking nervous but also like he’s about to vibrate right out his seat with excitement.

 

He’s in love with an idiot.

 

“Ignore how I’m think we date for three months, have to ask if I’m sure?” He asks, amused, and Sid blushes.

 

“No! No I mean, I mean— holy shit. Like if you want to, of course, I’m definitely— like yes? Yes. but we— holy shit.” He drags a hand through his hair and laughs, a giddy looking smile starting across his face. “I’m so dumb, Jesus.”

 

He nods. “I know this. Still love. Am best, yes? And pay for dinner!”

 

Sid laughs and Geno thinks _this_ is really what he’s been looking for.

 

**...**

 

If Sid had to pinpoint exactly when they started dating, it would be pretty difficult. Geno says the Russia trip, Sid arguing vehemently for their first night at his house, when they were both in bed together.

 

If Sid had to pinpoint exactly when they sealed the deal, well, it would be easy. He’s got dates (the engagement, the second Cup win, the third, the fourth, the _wedding_ ). But he’s also got Geno next him, every day for the rest of his life, and that’s all he’s ever going to need to be able to say _‘it was worth it._ ’

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed! It was fun trying my hand at this pairing. And at fluff in general. (Idk how well I succeeded but oh well)


End file.
